Grief
by Insanity 101
Summary: Bruce Wayne thought he was doing a noble deed in taking the now orphaned Richard Grayson into his home. To Dick, however, he might as well be a kidnapper. Two mirror images in the hand fate dealt them, yet who could possibly understand eachother less?
1. Anger

_Heh...well it was my birthday not too long ago, and I meant to write up a little something for you...so here it is. Little oneshot I've had in my head for quite some time now...finally brought to the computer screen. Injoy._

* * *

Richard Grayson stared with narrowed eyes at the towering structure before him. In that moment, he hated every turret and tower, every cruel iron spike that bled the sky. He hated every brick, every window, every cruddy inch of this place that he was now expected to call home. It was more a prison than a home, anyway. 

A hand landed heavily on his shoulder. "It's not much...but it's home," rumbled the low voice of Bruce Wayne, the man who had stolen him away from the only place he had ever known, and legally too, thanks to his stupid lawyers' adoption papers. He had never wanted to be eighteen so much in his life.

With a viscious jerk, he got rid of the unwanted, possessive hand. "This isn't my home," he growled, as best as an eight year old could. He was leaving this place the second Wayne took his eyes off him.

The man must have been afraid of silence, because he was quick to supply a new subject. "Alfred should have your room all ready. Do you want to go take a look?"

Gritting his teeth, eyes still squinted at the castle before him, Dick snapped, "You're the _legal guardian_. Doesn't that make you the boss?"

Wayne just smiled pleasantly, bringing another wave of fury into his chest to the point where he felt most like yelling or hitting the man for his refusal to be provoked. He reached helpfully for Dick's single suitcase, but it was jerked out of his reach. No way would he lay a finger on his things.

Unperturbed, Wayne led the way up the long, winding driveway as twilight darkened the trees around them. Dick considered bolting right then and there, but one glance back at the high-voltage gate changed his mind. He'd have to wait until Wayne opened that gate again. Until then... Frustration pounded through him. He was stuck.

* * *

Dinner passed in silence. Dick sent his hatred straight for Wayne's head like a death ray, but he gave no indication that it bothered him in the slightest. Barely holding back a scream of rage, the boy sank low in his enormously elegant dining chair, poking violently at his meal. 

"You don't like the chicken, Master Richard?"

He gave an uninterested glance at the butler, then returned to stabbing the piece of meat. "The chicken is fine. It's the fact that I'm even here eating it that I hate."

Wayne chewed as though making an art of the act, swallowed, then folded his napkin back in his lap. "Hate is a very strong word, Richard. How can you feel that strongly about something you know nothing about?"

Dick felt his face burn with fury at the man's condescending tone and the use of his hated name Richard. Refusing to be outdone, he retorted, "I can tell a bad situation when I see one."

Wayne set down his fork. "Oh really?"

Unable to control himself any longer, Dick slammed his fist onto his plate of chicken, scattering bits of food across the enormous table. "What makes you think you have any say in what happens to me? I didn't ask you to adopt me! You're not my father, and I don't have to stay here! I WON'T!"

He pushed back the chair as hard as he could, leaping from its seat just before it crashed to the floor. He faintly heard Wayne calling his name as he tore up the marble staircase and out of sight.

Dick spead down the twisting and turning hallways at a constant sprint, hardly breathing, feeling the fury slowly burning away inside his chest. When he could no longer run, he stopped, yanked open a door, and found himself in an enormous, shadowy closet. Tucked away in a dark corner, sheltered by long-forgotten trench coats, he let his breath tear him up inside, shaking, weezing, but not crying.

* * *

The red glow of light burned behind his eyelids, dragging him from a short and fitful sleep. He felt someone pulling him gently out of his corner, and his first instinct was to fight it, but then the gentle voice reached his ears. 

"Shh, Master Richard. It's all right...Shhhh."

Allowing himself to go limp once again, he let the warm arms gather him up, let himself be carried away until the soft warmth of blankets engulfed him. As his body relaxed, sleep emerging once again, a gentle hand stroked his forehead. "Sweet dreams, Master Richard."

Deep, delicious darkness surrounded him...

"Sweet dreams."

* * *

Dick pushed open the door to the dining room with ruffled hair and wrinkled clothes, blinking the sleep from his eyes. Wayne sat at the head, newspaper opened and coffee mug in hand. Alfred emerged from the side door leading to the kitchen, carrying a plate loaded with breakfast foods. 

"Good morning, Master Richard. Are you hungry?"

Dick nodded; the old man couldn't possibly know just how hungry he was.

With a kind smile, the butler set the plate before him. A bacon piece smiled beneath happy egg eyes, hashbrown hair, and a strawberry nose. Dick felt nothing but the hollow ache in his chest as he swallowed once, unable even to say thanks for his breakfast. Slowly but surely, he forced every bite past the lump in his throat to avoid any awkward questions.

"So, Richard," Wayne rumbled from the far away head of the table. "It's looking as though it'll be a pretty slow day at the office, so I was thinking you could come with me. Maybe get a tour of Wayne Enterprises?" With a glance at the butler, who gave him a reproachful look, he cleared his throat and added, "That is, if you want to."

"Yeah!" Dick burst out before he realized his mistake. Trying to cover his eagerness, he mumbled, "I guess...if you want me to..."

"Good. Alfred, help the boy get cleaned up. I want him looking his best."

"Yes, Master Wayne."

Dick's mind was racing all the way back to his "bedroom". If he planned this right, he could be free of the both of them in a matter of hours.

* * *

The ride to Wayne Enterprises felt unbearably long to Dick, though the clock was convinced it only lasted ten minutes. It took every ounce of self control he had to stop himself from squirming impatiently in the seat as the car crept through traffic light after traffic light. When the building finally came into view, it took another eternity to get into the parking garage, though Dick noticed that Wayne had his own reserved space. He guessed he would have to, since the company was named after him and all. 

Dick watched every detail carefully, jotting them all down in his mind as they went through floor after floor, all filled to the bursting with busy people. He would have been intimidated, had he not been well aquainted with the idea of crowds.

At last, he could wait no longer. It was now or never. Stopping abruptly in his tracks, he tilted his head well back and looked Wayne in the eye. "I need the bathroom."

"Oh." Wayne scratched his head in thought, as though uncertain about something. Shrugging, he pointed back the way they had come. "It's just straight down, turn left, and its the second door on your right. My office is right here when you're done."

Dick nodded and marched off in the indicated direction. He turned the corner, counted to ten, then peeked back down the hallway. Wayne was just shutting the door to his office.

Moving quickly, he weaved almost unnoticed through the crowds as he retraced his steps exactly, from floor to floor, past office after office. In a matter of minutes he was on the ground floor and out onto the streets of Gotham.

With a nervous, and pointless, glance behind him, Dick tore off down the street, eager to put as much sidewalk between him and Wayne as possible. He had no idea where he was going...but he knew anywhere was better than here.

* * *

_Ok...looks like this is gonna have another chapter after all. If it seemed like I was getting tired towards the end...it's because I was. Hope you enjoyed it so far...the next one should be coming real quick here. Thanks! -Dusty_


	2. Acceptance

_See? I still know what real soon means! Ok...here I am with the second and hopefully (this is where vinnie gets a good laugh) the last chapter for this ficlet. Sorry I dropped you back there but...since senior year has started I've lost all my ability to function after eleven. Pathetic, I know. Anywho, nuff rambling. Shut up and read._

* * *

It didn't take long for Dick to realize that he didn't know this part of Gotham (or any part, really). The circus grounds had been his home, and whatever place they were set up had made up the entirety of his world. Stepping out that door had been like diving head first into a massive river with no plans of how to get across. He was utterly lost and completely at the mercy of those around him. 

_Don't cry. _Dick stumbled, only just catching himself as yet another faceless person shoved past him. _You are not going to cry._

There were no homes in this part of Gotham, no porch step to duck into, no fence to jump, no backyard to hide in. There was just skyscraper after skyscraper, shop after shop, and what felt like millions of people packed into every square inch. He thought for the barest second of crossing the street, but that would have been pure suicide considering the din of horns honking and brakes screeching.

What felt like hours later, his situation had only grown worse, and now he couldn't have gone back to Wayne Enterprises whether he wanted to or not. Every person looked the same, every building melded into one. The cacaphony common to a busy street had dissolved into a single, high-pitched screech in his head, drowning out all logical thought, freezing the air in his lungs, and shocking his heart into frantic beating. He was lost...completely and hopelessly lost, and not one person in this massive crowd cared. No one in this city, in this country, in this world, would have any reason to even care what happened to him today. There was no parent to frantically describe, no reunion waiting for him after this terrifying experience. He was just one in millions. Just one little boy engulfed in the mobs of Gotham City.

He choked on the first tear, giving up the effort to keep moving forward and instead just ducking, crawling between legs until he found the solid, brick wall of a building. He planted his back flat against it, letting his heart pulse through it. His frightened eyes closed, his head dropped into his hands, and he sobbed his heart out. No one would come for him.

The only comforting thought his young mind could conjure up was that, if he ceased to exist today...maybe he would see them again.

* * *

Bruce knew it even as the boy locked eyes with him. That nagging voice in his head kept screeching a warning, but he ignored it. The kid only wanted a bathroom, after all. The last thing he wanted to do was suffocate him. 

Bruce knew even as the office door clicked shut that he was making a terrible mistake, but still, he shoved his intuition aside. What did he know about kids, anyway? The boy was eight, what trouble could he possibly get into in a restroom?

So he sat. He skimmed over documents for signing. He sipped his morning coffee. And he watched the clock.

It wasn't until ten minutes had ticked away that the nagging voice became too loud to ignore. Sighing, still unsure about his annoying impression, Bruce Wayne made his way to the men's bathroom.

"Richard?" he called, feeling like a moron even as he did so. "You in here?"

No response.

The embarassment vanished immediately, to be replaced by an intensely painful sinking feeling. "Richard?" he called, voice slightly higher pitched. Losing all sense of dignity, the head of Wayne Enterprises bent over and searched for feet in every stall. All of them were about eight sizes to big.

Turning on his heel, Bruce was off, his mentality quickly switching into his after-hours persona. Where would the boy go?

_"What makes you think you have any say in what happens to me? I didn't ask you to adopt me! You're not my father, and I don't have to stay here! I WON'T!"_

"Son of a bitch," he whispered, pace rapidly increasing. Not even twenty-four hours and he had already lost his charge.

* * *

Dick had managed to find a small nook in which to tuck himself, shielded from notice and protected from careless feet. Emotion had drained out of him, leaving a cold numb in its wake. It didn't matter how many people walked past his hole. Nothing changed. Nothing _could_ be changed. 

It took his sluggish brain a moment to realize that someone had pulled him up by the arm. He stared in surprise at the man who now held him, his face bringing up a complete blank. He'd never seen him before.

"Johnny? Thank God you're all right!" The strange man pulled him into a suffocating and slightly painful embrace. Dick's nostrils filled with the revolting smell of sweat, cigarette smoke, and stale alcohol. His mouth opened at last, entirely prepared to let out a shriek for help...but at that precise moment, he felt the icy cold metal pressed in between the button gaps of his collared shirt. "Shut up and walk," the man hissed, lips pressed against his ear.

The boy didn't have much room for fear, only shock. His legs moved on their own as the man pulled back, gripping his hand and sharing a relieved smile with anyone who took the time to glance his way. Not that many did.

He was tugged along until they stood before the gap between two skyscrapers, filled with trashbins and dim with natural shadow. The gun was back now, pressed midway up his spine. For a moment, the man was content simply that Dick was putting one foot in front of the other, and in that instant, he thought maybe it would continue like this and he would never have to worry about what would happen when the street was far enough away. Wishful thinking.

The man laughed, voice scratchy and thick with mucus. He spat out the words so fast one ran into the next. "I know who you are, kid. You're that brat orphan Wayne took in. Oh yeah, that was all over the papers, kid. This is just my frickin' lucky day, isn't it? Wonder what he'd do to get you back. Better yet..." Dick heard an ominous click, and he knew he should be terrified. He wasn't.

"I wonder what Brucey would pay if he had some...proof that his brat's life was in danger."

Dick turned slowly, eyes fixed on the muzzle of the gun. Maybe he would see them again...

A sickening crack rang through the alley...but Dick wasn't the one to fall.

Bruce Wayne stood with the shattered neck of a bottle in his hand, the man collapsed at his feet. For what felt like an eternity, Dick stared at Wayne, and Wayne stared back. And then the shock dissolved.

The eight year old clung to Bruce's waist for dear life, sobs shaking his small body as all the fear of the last few hours, no, the last few _days_ escaped him in one torrent. He thought that he was alone, staring down that gun. He thought no one was left to come for him. But this man did. It was only natural in his mind that he would cling to that man for support.

Bruce lifted the boy he barely knew in his arms, rocking him gently, stroking his dark black hair and whispering soft words in his ear. "It's all right...I'm here. No one's going to get you. You're safe."

It seemed as though hours passed before Dick felt that he could let the tears receed. He was crying out every memory, every hope, and every ounce of disbelief. His body was nearly limp with exhaustion when at last he took a shuddering breath.

Setting Dick gently on his feet and kneeling down beside him, Bruce rubbed his cold arms comfortingly, searching his face. "You ok, squirt?" he asked, voice slightly choked. He couldn't seem to get the image of that gun and the look on Richard's face out of his head...He had the feeling it would haunt him for quite some time.

Rubbing his sore eyes with both fists, Dick nodded hesitantly, not sure if he really knew the answer to Bruce's question. He did know one thing, though. He had known it inside from the beginning...but now he realized there was no point in fighting it. Nothing could give him back his old life...but eight was way too young not to start a new one.

"Bruce?"

The man blinked for a moment, eyes analyzing. "Yes?"

Dick gave a small, shaky smile. "Can we go home now?"

* * *

_Heh...so there you have it. The odd little section of Batman and Robin's life that popped into my odd little mind. Hope you enjoyed it...however, if you intend to complain to me about plot or some other foolish thing, I'll have you know this right here is my stress RELIEVER. I don't need to be stressing about this along with all my other, graded writing assignments. -cough- That said...We turn the page on this chapter of the legend of the Dynamic Duo. Cheers. -Dusty_

_One more thing...The bit with Bruce in the office skipped back an hour or two from where we left Dick, and that time was spent in trying to find the kid. Gotham's a big city and Dick made a lot better time than you would expect... That said. _


End file.
